


scenes from a mancunian restaurant

by redandgold



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: M/M, Saxophones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2019-03-14 16:27:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13593954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redandgold/pseuds/redandgold
Summary: "I'm lightening the mood," Ryan says, completely oblivious as to how he's only achieved the opposite. "This is the sexy saxophone music every rom-com needs."





	scenes from a mancunian restaurant

**Author's Note:**

  * For [neyvenger (jjjat3am)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jjjat3am/gifts).



> For the prompt: Person A and Person B are starting to develop a relationship with one another, but there is still some tension. Person C takes note of this and tries to “lighten the mood” by playing sexy music on a saxophone whenever A and B are within close proximity to one another.
> 
> Dearest Julija! Love you lots and I know this is just a little ditty that doesn't have very much at all but I do hope it at least makes you smile. <3

"Right," says Scholesy, arms folded, looking at the absolute disaster in front of him. Ryan's doing the game with Gary and Carragher tonight and had invited Scholesy along, ostensibly to make up the Manc numbers but really to observe the two of them in close proximity and then do what he does best. ("Two-foot them?" Scholesy had asked hopefully. "Solve the problem," Ryan said, "although that might be worth a shot.")

It's the middle of the game and the Scouser is practically drooling all over Gary, who remains about as unwilling to act on it as he is willing to eat every pasty within twenty miles. Scholesy didn't know that people's gag reflexes could be triggered by watching someone pathetically shove their hands near someone else's and hope that something would happen, but you learn a new thing every day. Not necessarily things you need to learn.

"You should try that on ya boy," Ryan says, continuing to disabuse the notion that he could ever be a helpful human being.

"We need to stage an intervention."

"My thoughts exactly."

Out of the corner of his eye Scholesy sees the glint of something metallic moments before Ryan launches into what Scholesy can comfortably call the worst rendition of the Baker Street Solo he's ever heard.

In fact it's surprising he recognises it all. Certainly the muddle of enthusiastically-blown notes (and here enthusiastic is not a compliment) sounds unforgivably alien to everyone else; Scholesy puts it down to the Years of Bullshit he's had to put up with.

"What are you doing?" he hisses, smacking at Ryan's hands until he stops. By then it's too late and everyone is staring at them, except Gary, who's staring at the screen as if he's wondering how much it'll hurt if he puts his face through it.

"I'm lightening the mood," Ryan says, completely oblivious as to how he's only achieved the opposite. "This is the sexy saxophone music every rom-com needs."

"First of all, the Baker Street Solo is not sexy - " which is a point Scholesy never thought he'd have to make - "second of all, this is neither the time nor place, and third of all, where the _fuck_ were you hiding that?"

"Under my desk," Ryan beams. "Not that there's a lot of room there, because of my huge - "

"What the FUCK," Gary bellows, and Scholesy hasn't been this grateful to Lee Cattermole for headbutting another player since he took the red card record sweetly out of Scholesy's reach.

 

 

"I'm surprised you could tell it was the Baker Street Solo," Ryan says afterwards.

"I never want to talk about this again," Scholesy says.

 

 

Unfortunately - because, with Ryan Giggs, there is always going to be a sentence that starts with 'unfortunately' - Carrick's testimonial happens.

Most of it is genuinely fun. Scholesy feels like he hasn't gotten a proper run-out for a while, and pulling on that familiar shirt is like the smell of freshly baked homemade cookies. ("Shirts as cookies? I see you're really putting on the pounds," said Ryan. "Shut up," said Scholesy.)

Carragher running straight into Gary with little pretence to decency is in equal parts fun and horrifying. Everyone bursts into laughter, Carragher gets away with touching Gary's butt and making no apologies for it, and Scholesy doesn't know whether to applaud him or instigate a punch-up for no particular reason.

Predictably, and despite all assurances to the contrary, Carragher does turn up for the after-party, looking very uncomfortable in a room full of Mancs. Predictably, and despite all assurances to the contrary, he makes a beeline for their table, and Scholesy sits darkly in his chair watching what are possibly the worst attempts at flirting since Gary at Becks circa 1989.

He turns to Ryan to make a snarky comment, only to find the chair beside him empty. "Have you seen – " he attempts to ask either Gary or Carragher, but the two of them are far too busy bumping knees into each other to acknowledge his existence.

" _Ahem_ ," comes a very familiar voice over the PA system.

"Oh dear God," Scholesy says.

"This is dedicated to the two lovebirds sitting at table fourteen," Ryan waves from where he's standing on the stage with his saxophone. Scholesy closes his eyes in an attempt to delete the last three words of that sentence, but when he opens them again it's still there.

Ryan plays the first note and, in the immortal words of Kenneth Wolstenholme, Scholesy thinks it's all over. At the very least he's never going to be able to listen to _Careless Whisper_ without the curious urge to cry ever again.

"Who's he talking about?" Gary whispers, leaning over. "There's only you and me and – "

"Take your time," Scholesy says.

 

 

"You should've told me earlier!"

Gary's in a bit of a state. This isn't abnormal, and Scholesy is privately of the opinion that Gary not being in a state is more frightening, but the subject matter is sufficiently odd. Scholesy raises an eyebrow.

"I should have told you that you're in love with a Scouser?"

"Yes!"

"I'm not your _mum_ , Gaz."

"Well, then, she should've told me!" Gary looks at him, starkly pale. "D'you think she knows?"

Scholesy sighs, hoping he sounds sympathetic and knowing he sounds equal parts annoyed and derisive. "Of course, Gaz. I'm pretty sure eighty percent of the nation is rooting for you two. And that's only because the other twenty voted for UKIP."

"Fuck." Gary sits down. "D'you think Jamie knows?"

"Yes."

"Is that why Giggsy keeps playing stupid saxophone music?"

"Yes."

"What am I going to do?"

"This is going to sound radical," Scholesy says, lowering his voice conspiratorially, "but maybe you could try _telling him_."

"He should tell me first," Gary says, with all the bullheaded stubbornness that made him an excellent defender and a shit Grindr prospect.

"You know what?" Scholesy makes a sudden lunge across the table and grabs Gary's phone out of his hands, eliciting a strangled yelp that is completely unnecessary. "If you want to be all sixth form about this, let's be properly sixth form about this."

And before Gary can launch into any kind of speech (a great feat, considering trying to stop Gary from speaking is like trying to stop Chelsea fans from being stupid), Scholesy's sent _hi carra I really like u._ Done and done. Not even a late tackle can stop things now. Scholesy would know.

"What did you send," Gary says, surprisingly unscreechy, although his voice is bordering on psychopathic serial killer.

"Bloody told him is all," Scholesy says, just as Gary's phone pings: _fucking finally!!_

"Is that him?"

"Yup." Scholesy texts a nonchalant _pub lateR?_ even as Gary has turned a bit paler than the average human being would consider healthy.

"What are you telling him?"

"Nothing."

_As long as it's not anything u own_

"Is he taking you seriously?" Gary asks. The line between his eyebrows is even deeper than Scholesy ever remembers seeing. If it gets any deeper James Cameron might want to pilot a submersible into it. "I can't believe he's taking you seriously."

"I've known you thirty years, I can pretend to be you over a couple of texts," Scholesy rolls his eyes and shoves the phone back at Gary. "Do you own the King's Arms?"

"No, wh – "

"Right. King's Arms in an hour. Please don't tell me I need to babysit you there. I need to see about destroying a saxophone."

 

 

"How'd it go?"

"I think it went all right," Phil says thoughtfully. They're having breakfast at the hotel before Phil scarpers back to Valencia or whatever. ("I feel like you should know this," said Ryan. "I'm not familiar with the sun," said Scholesy.) "He didn't say a lot when he got back, but he looked pretty happy and Carra came in two minutes later and went straight upstairs, so who knows what that was."

"Mm." Scholesy hazards a look around; Gary isn't down yet and it's past seven, which is about as incriminating as DNA evidence at a crime scene. "The less we know, the better."

"Morning, lads," Ryan says from somewhere behind him. Scholesy doesn't even bother to turn around. "Having a nice, cosy time, are you?"

"What's that you're carrying behind your back?" Phil asks, craning his head.

"I thought I might provide a little something to spice up this breakfast," Ryan says.

Scholesy's glad he decided to buy earplugs after all.

**Author's Note:**

> wiggles fingers my favourite part...
> 
> \- title is based on scenes from an italian restaurant, one of like 3?? billy joel songs to have a saxophone and part of my continued quest to turn everything into the domain of this wonky bald man  
> \- yes, 'ya boy' is a buzzfeed unsolved reference and I continue to shoehorn everyone into this idea (for the record: giggsy is a very shane-y ryan and scholesy is a very ryan-y shane)  
> \- [Baker Street](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fo6aKnRnBxM) / [an excellent parody](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v4DCJWDhWeA)  
> \- Lee Cattermole holds the record for most red cards in the Premier League; Scholesy has, like, 99 or something  
> \- Kenneth Wolstenholme was the one who delivered that immortal commentary for 1966  
> \- [careless whisper](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=izGwDsrQ1eQ) (I literally googled 'sexy saxophone songs' for this, ok)  
> \- the King's Arms does exist, of course, particularly as the first on TimeOut's list of best Manchester pubs  
> \- Thanks for reading!


End file.
